


stranger's day

by salazarsslytherin



Series: the seven days [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Halloween, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-02 06:50:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16300133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salazarsslytherin/pseuds/salazarsslytherin
Summary: Bronn and Jaime celebrate Stranger's Day, the Westeros equivalent of Halloween.





	stranger's day

Jaime frowned as yet another child ran past in a tattered cloak and a rough mask with their hood pulled up.  “Am I missing something?” he asked Bronn, hastily stepping aside so the child didn’t crash into him on the way past.

Bronn looked around to see what Jaime meant.  “The little’uns?” he asked.

“Yes.  We must’ve seen at least five dressed like that since we came into the city,” Jaime said, carrying on down the street.  He didn’t really know exactly where they were going—he’d never been for a drink in this part of King’s Landing before—but he preferred to keep walking, wary of pickpockets and thieves.  Once upon a time he wouldn’t have cared at all, confident that if anyone so much as tried to steal from him he could have dealt with them in a heartbeat.  Now, he felt the back of his neck itching with paranoia, the golden hand heavier than ever.  

“Yeah, for Stranger’s Day.  It’s just their costumes,” Bronn replied, leading him down a little side-alley Jaime never would have noticed if he’d been on his own.

“ _Stranger’s Day_?” Jaime repeated.  “Stranger’s Day has nothing to do with costumes.”

“Course it does,” Bronn laughed.  “For kids, anyway.”  He paused and looked over at Jaime.  “Don’t you lot do that?”

“Do what?”

“Put a mask on like the Stranger and go round getting little treats and pennies from people?”

Jaime made a face.  “ _Stealing_ , you mean.”

“No.  People give ‘em, it’s a tradition.  I’ve got a bunch of those little lemon cakes you like at my house ready for when they come knocking tonight,” Bronn said.  He stopped entirely, looking at Jaime.  “Do you honestly not do that?”

“No,” Jaime said, pausing with him.  “I’ve never heard of that.”

“You highborn lot,” Bronn said, rolling his eyes.  “Do you even do pumpkins?”

“With the faces?”  Jaime nodded slowly.  “We’ve done that before.”  When they were children, they had.  A superstition to ward off evil spirits on the day of the Stranger, when the veil between the world of the living and the world of the dead was at its thinnest.  Cersei had always refused to join in but Tyrion had been surprisingly good at carving the creepiest faces.

“That’s summat, at least,” Bronn allowed.  “And I bet you like sugared apples.”

Jaime shrugged.  “I’ve never tried one.”

“Gods!” Bronn let out.  He stopped again and took Jaime’s elbow, turning him back the way they’d come.  “You’re hopeless, fuck getting a drink here, come with me.”  And with that, he marched off back the way they’d come, his hand still hooked around Jaime’s arm to pull him along with him.

What they were headed for turned out to be a market in the centre of Flea Bottom, just starting to pack up for the night now that the sun had started going down.

Bronn walked straight to a stall selling apples on little sticks and turned back to Jaime.  “Do you have money with you?”

Jaime obligingly pulled his coin purse from under his jacket and let Bronn grab a few pennies from inside to buy one of the apples, which he handed to Jaime with a grin.  

“You’ll love this,” he promised.  “Fuckin’ sweet tooth of yours.”

“Don’t you want one, too?” Jaime asked, taking the treat and looking down at it.  It was, exactly as the name suggested, an apple coated in toffeed sugar and speared on a stick.  

“Nah, ‘s’too sweet for me,” Bronn said, waving him off.  “Can you see anyone selling pumpkins?  They might all be gone, it’s a bit late now.  Could use turnips, I guess.”  He wandered a few yards away while Jaime turned his attention back to the apple in his hand, trying to figure out how best to bite into it without losing all dignity.

In the end he just bit, wincing a little as the sticky surface of it touched both his nose and chin, leaving a tacky residue, but the satisfying crunch and the burst of sweetness over his tongue more than made up for it.  Jaime had to stop himself from making a sound of pleasure as he took another huge bite, immediately turning back to the stall holder and signalling that he wanted another.

Seeing as he didn’t have another hand to hold a spare one in, the stall-holder wrapped the second apple in waxed paper for him and Jaime tucked it against his chest with the golden hand before turning to seek out Bronn.  

He’d finished the entire apple by the time he found him at a stall just along the street, leaning in to pay for the two pumpkins he had set down before him.

“Hold this,” Bronn directed, heaving one into Jaime’s arms as he noticed him.

Jaime frowned down at it.  “It’s all flat.”

Bronn huffed.  “Nothing’s ever good enough for you, you spoiled cunt.  There’s barely any left, you’ll have to make do.”

It _was_ a bit misshapen but Bronn had looked through all the ones the fruit vendor had left and they were all either squashed or tiny.  These were the best of a bad bunch.  

Tucking the other one under his own arm, Bronn set off down the street with Jaime in tow, leading him back along winding streets and alleys, out of the choked heart of Flea Bottom and down along the Street of the Sisters to the little house he rented.  How he remembered the way, Jaime would never know.

It was a lot more gold than Bronn had been paying for his previous rooms but he’d had to step things up a bit when he’d started making a habit of entertaining Jaime on his own.  He’d never said anything outright but he’d only visited Bronn’s last room once before refusing to return on a whole myriad of excuses, and Bronn didn’t like to bed him in Jaime’s quarters because Jaime was so paranoid of being overheard that he barely made any noise at all.

His new quarters had the priceless benefit of privacy; instead of rooms he had an entire, if small, house for himself.  Nobody’s bedroom adjoining the wall with his, nobody to overhear two male voices and ask questions, nobody to linger nearby and eavesdrop on every conversation.  

Unlocking the door, Bronn stood back to let Jaime in first, though he hovered uncertainly just inside the threshold.  It was dark and he wasn’t very familiar with the layout yet.  Bronn left him there while he dumped his pumpkin on the scrubbed table and set about lighting the lamps and candles.

Once he could see properly, Jaime set the pumpkin he’d been carrying beside Bronn’s and picked up the key lying next to them on the table.

“Should we lock the door?”

“Nah,” Bronn said, bent over the grate and busy lighting a fire as Jaime shivered.  “The kids’ll start knocking soon.  There,” he added, straightening up as a tell-tale popping sound could be heard and the flickering orange of flames licked along the wood and kindling.  “Best keep your cloak on for now,” he advised.  “Unlike _some_ people, I don’t have servants who keep my fire lit all day.”

Jaime frowned at him and pointedly slipped his cloak off, hanging it on one of the hooks by the door.  It _was_ cold but it would warm up soon enough, especially with the candles lit as well.  “I’m sure I’ll cope,” he said dryly.  He’d spent a year chained to a pole as the weather grew steadily colder and the people around him bundled up in furs to keep warm; he could handle a slight chill in the air.  

Bronn spent a few moments rooting through his meagre cooking supplies before producing two knives and a large metal spoon and laying them out on the table.  “Which one do you wanna carve up?”

Jaime looked at the two pumpkins and shrugged.  “I’m not going to do a very good job of either,” he said, lifting the golden hand.

“You can have the shitty one then,” Bronn decided, shoving the more squashed pumpkin toward him.  

“I don’t really want to carve a pumpkin, Bronn,” Jaime said, eyeing it as though it were riddled with some kind of infectious disease as he threw his leg over the bench and sat down.  “This is for children.  We’re both grown men.”

“So?  You can have fun sometimes, princess, it won’t kill ya.”  Though with the way Jaime acted sometimes, you’d be forgiven for believing that he thought it might.  “Besides,” Bronn continued, searching out two cups and fetching his (fucking expensive, bought especially for when Jaime came round) bottle of Dornish red from its hiding place.  “It’s not for us.  It’s for the kids, I’m gonna put ‘em outside with candles so they know they can knock.”

Jaime arched an eyebrow at him and accepted the cup of wine that was offered.  “I had no idea you were so fond of children,” he remarked.

“I ain’t.  But I was one of them little brats running around in a mask once, eating candies and cakes ‘til I was sick.”  He took a hearty swig of his own wine, which had been poured from a much cheaper bottle, before picking up his knife and pointing it at Jaime.  “Look alive, cunt.  Get carving.”  

Jaime rolled his eyes but picked up the other knife.  “You know, I could be offended with how often you call me a _cunt_.”

“Sorry, princess,” Bronn said, surprisingly genuine.  “Habit.”  He reached over to affectionately swipe his thumb over the back of Jaime’s neck and gripped his shoulder for a moment.  

“And ‘princess’ is hardly better,” Jaime added, though his tone had lost the offence.  “I’m a _man_ , it’s not very fitting.”

“Trust me,” Bronn said, leaning in close to Jaime, “I know you’re a man.”  His tongue flicked out and caught the shell of Jaime’s ear, making him catch his breath, before he straightened up and set to cutting a hole in the top of his pumpkin.

It took Jaime a few seconds to shake himself back to the present, his mind already wandering into the bedroom though the sun had barely gone down.  He watched what Bronn was doing for several seconds before clumsily starting to copy, wedging the pumpkin against his chest with his right arm while he stabbed into the top of it with the knife and cut out a crude circle.  

Bronn had finished gutting his by the time Jaime managed to pull the top off of his by the stalk, a big bowl full of pumpkin seeds and pulp before him on the table.  He handed Jaime the spoon he’d used to carve the insides out and wiped his hands off on his breeches so he could refill their wine glasses.  

He leaned over Jaime as he set his glass back down, one arm braced on his shoulder as he watched what he was doing to the pumpkin.  

“Need any help with that?” Bronn asked, not moving to actually help but instead leaning down further and turning his mouth into Jaime’s neck to mouth at him for a moment.  

Jaime’s movements stuttered and he turned his head obligingly so Bronn could plant a kiss on his mouth before taking the spoon from him and deftly setting to scraping the thickest parts of the pumpkin away.

“I can do it, you know,” Jaime pointed out, because he needed to.

“I know,” Bronn assured him.  “Kids’ll be coming round soon though so I wanna get ‘em outside.  Can you cut a face into that one?”  He jerked his head at the pumpkin that was already hollowed out.  

“What sort of face do you want?” Jaime asked, dragging it closer.  

“Any, whatever you want.” 

Jaime had barely made the first incision to start making eyes when Bronn finished gutting the second pumpkin and finally flopped to sit on the bench beside him.  He let his legs fall wide open so his knee pressed against Jaime’s as he put his tongue between his teeth and started cutting a face as well.

“Do you do this every year?” Jaime asked, easing the roughly-round bit of pumpkin out of the hole he’d cut and tossing it on the table before starting on the next eye.  

“Not always,” Bronn said.  “Obviously some places don’t worship the Seven so they don’t bother with it.  And some places I’ve lived, ain’t really many children about to go knocking.”

“There are quite a few around here,” Jaime said.  He thought he’d probably seen more children to-ing and fro-ing in the streets today than he had since he’d been a child himself.

“Aye,” Bronn agreed.  “Most nights they’d be fools to wander round the streets begging for treats.  Stranger’s Day’s different, though.”  He turned to look at Jaime.  “So if you didn’t go around doing that, what _do_ you lot do for Stranger’s Day?”

Jaime shrugged.  “Nothing anymore.  If the gods are real, I don’t think carven pumpkins and salted windows will keep them away.”

“What about when you were a child?” Bronn pressed.  “You used to do this?”  He indicated the pumpkins.

“Sometimes,” Jaime nodded.  “Father didn’t like it, but he was usually at court.  Tyrion loved them.  Once he kept one in his rooms for so long it rotted and drew the rats inside, he had nightmares after they threw it away.”  Jaime had forgotten that until that very moment.  The maester had been furious.  “Most often we’d just go to the Sept and light a candle for the Stranger, say prayers asking him to guide the spirits into the afterlife, things like that.”

Bronn made a face.  “I prefer my way,” he said.  He’d never actually been in a real Sept before but sitting in one all day saying prayers sounded like a right waste of an afternoon to him.  “Once me and my brother got enough coins to buy ale at one of the inns—we were only young, never drank a drop before that.  Spent the whole next morning hoiking me guts up in an alley somewhere.  Best Stranger’s Day I ever had, though.”

Jaime widened his eyes at him.  “Weren’t your parents angry?”

“Oh, they were long gone by then,” Bronn said, waving a careless hand.

“Oh,” Jaime said.  “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.  Weren’t much loss—they were never really the caring types, to be honest with you.”

“It’s a wonder you turned out so warm and loving,” Jaime quipped.

“Oi,” Bronn said, elbowing him in the ribs.  “I can be very loving.”

Jaime let out an indignant huff and rubbed his side where the blow had landed.  “Oh yes,” he agreed sarcastically.  “ _Very_ loving, _beating_ me.”

Bronn set his knife down and leaned in, one hand coming up to rest on the back of Jaime’s neck while the other slid along his thigh.  “You feeling poorly treated, princess?” he asked, lightly brushing his lips against Jaime’s for a few seconds before kissing him properly.  

Jaime happily abandoned his clumsy carving job to turn into the attention, opening his mouth and letting out a tiny sigh as Bronn’s tongue pressed against his, only to be left blinking dazedly as someone knocked on the door and Bronn pulled away.  

“That’ll be the kids,” he said, giving Jaime’s thigh a quick squeeze before he got up.  “Can you bring that tray over?  The one with the little cakes on,” Bronn said, crossing the few strides to the door and stopping before it.  “Friend or stranger?” he called through the wood.

“Friend!” several young-sounding voices chorused from outside.  

Bronn grinned and pulled the door open to reveal three young lads in ratty cloaks and masks gazing up at him.  

Jaime appeared at his shoulder and offered an awkward but pleasant smile, the tray held firmly before him like he thought without it the children might come charging past.  They all helped themselves without needing to be told, quick little fingers plucking the cakes up and stuffing them in their pockets before they turned on their heels to run away giggling.

“What was that you said to them?” Jaime asked as Bronn swung the door shut and returned to the table to carry on carving the pumpkin face.  

“It’s tradition,” Bronn said.  “Before you answer the door, you check it’s not the actual Stranger come knocking.”

“Oh yes and I’m sure if it _was_ him, he’d be so obliging as to _tell_ you,” Jaime commented wryly.

Bronn laughed.  “Be a simpler death that, wouldn’t it?” he mused.  “Nobody’d ever answer the door.”

Jaime didn’t reply for a moment.  “Some would,” he said quietly.

Bronn’s hands halted, knife going still as he turned to look at Jaime, deadly serious for once.  “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“Nothing.”  Jaime didn’t return Bronn’s look, focusing hard on trying to cut a smiling-mouth shape into the lower half of his pumpkin.  It used to be difficult enough anyway but with his left hand he was just making a mess of things.  

Bronn opened his mouth to pry more but was interrupted by another knock.  

“I’ll do it,” Jaime said quickly, setting his knife down before hesitating suddenly.  “If...that’s alright?”

“Course it’s alright,” Bronn said, pleased that Jaime seemed to actually want to take part, even if it was just to avoid a potentially awkward conversation.  

Jaime walked up to the door and leaned close to the wood.  “Stranger or friend?” he asked uncertainly.

There was a second’s delay and a quick giggle from outside before, ‘Friend!’ and Jaime pulled the door open.  There were only two children this time, a boy and a girl, and they both waited with round, hopeful eyes on the tray of cakes rather than just snatching at them.

“Help yourselves,” Jaime said, holding them out.

“Thanks m’lord!” the girl crowed, grabbing one and shoving it in her mouth without a pause, waving as she caught her companion’s hand and turned to carry on down the street at a joyful run.

“Hold on,” Bronn said as Jaime went to close the door, carrying both pumpkins, now finished, over.  He placed them outside and lit two spare candles off the lamp just inside the door, placing them within the gutted pumpkins.

Jaime’s looked frankly awful, the mouth lopsided and choppy where his knife had slipped and caught in all the wrong places, but it did vaguely resemble a face.  Bronn’s looked much better; a big, gaping mouth full of sharp teeth and two big, skeletal eyes.

There was definitely a certain, creepy edge to them as orange flames flickered in their empty eye sockets.

“I said it wrong, didn’t I?” Jaime said as Bronn stepped back inside and closed the door.

“Aye,” he replied.  “It’s ‘friend or stranger’, but it doesn’t matter.”  He cleared the knives from the table and set the pulp aside to be used tomorrow, wiped his hands off on a rag and refilled both of their wine glasses while Jaime answered the door to another knock.  

A handful of children this time, all reaching eagerly for cakes almost before Jaime had gotten the door fully open.

“The cakes will all be gone soon,” Jaime said once they were gone, shutting the door once again and putting the tray down so he could accept his wineglass from Bronn.

“I got a few set aside for you, don’t worry.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jaime said, rolling his eyes.  “Some children will come and knock but we won’t be able to give them anything.”

Bronn shrugged.  “Then they’ll just have to go to the next house.”  He came over to Jaime and caught his elbow, gently pulling him away from the door.  “C’mere.  Come and sit down.”

Jaime let Bronn lead him across the room over to the bed, not quite the sort that Jaime was used to lying on but definitely a step up from what Bronn had had before.  This one had a proper mattress, even, and nice, soft blankets.

“Sorry, I don’t have a fancy lounging chair like you lot do,” Bronn said, shrugging out of his leather jerkin now that it had warmed up in the room and dumping it on top of the chest at the foot of the bed.  “You gonna take that off?” he asked, nodding towards Jaime’s jacket.  “Elsewise I’m gonna get stabbed by those bloody buckles.”

Jaime put his wine down and set to undoing the buckles as Bronn went to clamber on the bed, only to swear as someone else knocked on the door.  He got back up to answer it and when he returned he took a moment to loop his arms around Jaime from behind, tugging him back against his chest and planting a wet kiss on the back of his neck.

“Come on,” he said, settling on the bed and tugging Jaime down with him, careful not to spill either of their cups.  

“What are we—”

“Just... _sit_ ,” Bronn interrupted him, catching Jaime’s shoulder and pulling him back to lean more against him.  “Relax.  Or, try to— _can_ you even relax, is it possible for you with that stick up your arse?”

Jaime frowned.  “There’s no _stick_ ,” he said defensively, taking a large sip of wine all the same because Bronn was right, Jaime _wasn’t_ very good at relaxing.

“ _Sometimes_ there’s a big old stick up there,” Bronn said with a smirk, giving Jaime a quick nudge.

“Not for a _long_ time if you don’t stop making comments like that,” Jaime retorted.

“Alright, I’ll shut up,” Bronn conceded unexpectedly, switching his wine to his other hand so he could wrap his arm around Jaime and pull him in close against his side.

Jaime shot him a questioning look.

“What?” Bronn asked, settling back to get comfortable and taking a leisurely sip of wine.  

“Nothing,” Jaime said slowly.  “You’re just not usually this...friendly unless you’ve spilled your seed.”

Bronn snorted.  “Not used to being cuddled, eh, princess?”

Jaime didn’t reply but he didn’t move away, either.  He was a little stiff and felt slightly awkward but he sipped at his wine, hoping that feeling would disappear with time.  Cersei had never really been one for... _this_ sort of thing, intimacy without sex beforehand.  Jaime wasn’t sure what to do with it, what was expected of him—he was suddenly very aware of every inch of his body; his legs, one pressed against Bronn’s, and his elbows—was it digging painfully into Bronn’s ribs?  If he moved, would Bronn think he was trying to shove him away?

He held himself painfully still—apparently noticeably so as after a minute or so Bronn snorted with laughter.  “It’s like you think I’m about to stab you, princess,” he chuckled, giving Jaime a gentle shake with the arm about him.  “Why don’t you—fuck sake,” he interrupted himself.  There was someone else at the door.

“I’ll get it,” Jaime offered but Bronn was already disentangling himself.  

“No, no, you try and loosen up a bit, fuck me it’s like lying with a fuckin’ statue,” Bronn told him, waving a hand in Jaime’s direction as he crossed the room to indulge the children at his doorstep.  

Jaime watched, his presence in the room hidden from the kids by Bronn’s body where he stood in the doorway, sternly saying, ‘Oi now, just one each you little sods’.  Jaime had to bite his lip to fight the little grin that threatened him then.  This had been an unexpected turn of his evening—they’d been planning on getting a drink in Flea Bottom then Bronn had told Jaime he’d meet him later up at the Red Keep, but Jaime thought he might prefer this.

He felt oddly _safe_ here, despite the lack of thick stone walls and doors and guards everywhere you turned.  Maybe that was exactly why.  Bronn’s little house was simple and open; everything he had was right here in this room, with no walls or nooks or crannies anywhere for a spy to hide and listen.  It was just them.  And Cersei had always been derisive of the pumpkin carving Jaime and Tyrion had so enjoyed as children, but Jaime had found himself enjoying it tonight.  Maybe it wasn’t even the pumpkins or Stranger’s Day or any of it, but just the easy company and the unexpected sweetness that was Bronn doling treats out to children.

“There’s more just down the street, I’m gonna wait for ‘em a sec,” Bronn said over his shoulder.

Jaime hummed his understanding and started untying his hand, setting it aside before he rearranged the pillows, trying to settle back and really relax.  It was ridiculous that he should feel awkward just lying next to Bronn when they’d been far _more_ intimate than that countless times but Jaime was at least used to _that_ side of a relationship.  This bit was new to him.

“That’s the last of ‘em,” Bronn said, ducking outside to bring the pumpkins in before he closed the door and bolted it behind him.  He blew out a few candles around the room to dim the light and added more wood to the fire where it was starting to burn low before he finally rejoined Jaime on the bed.  “Best leave it a while before we head back to the Keep,” he said, kicking off his boots.  “There’s quite a few people still about.”

This time, Jaime leant against him without needing encouragement and Bronn threw one leg over his for good measure, letting out a long, lazy sigh of contentment.

Jaime quietly finished his cup of wine and Bronn started humming something Jaime half-recognised, though he couldn’t have named it for the life of him.  He thought he might have heard his mother sing it, years ago, but he didn’t interrupt to ask what it was, instead letting his head roll onto Bronn’s shoulder as he finally began to relax.  

Bronn wriggled a bit so they were lying more than sitting, his thumb idly rubbing back and forth along Jaime’s arm.  A tiny, satisfied smile played at his mouth when he glanced down at Jaime’s face and saw that he’d closed his eyes, breathing evening out.  He wasn’t asleep but he was well on his way.

“We could stay here tonight,” Jaime mumbled quietly, eyes slitting open a bit as he turned to look at Bronn suddenly.  “...Could we?  Instead of going to the Red Keep.”

Bronn restrained the urge to laugh triumphantly; that was exactly what he’d been hoping for.  “That’s a good idea, princess.  You alright with that?”

Jaime hummed his agreement, letting his eyes close again.  

Bronn let go of him for a brief moment to wrestle the blankets out from under their bodies and pull them up, pausing to yank Jaime’s boots off and toss them to the floor.

“Breeches off?” Bronn asked quietly, undoing the laces on Jaime’s before he’d even nodded and helping him out of them, sending them to join the boots before wriggling out of his own trousers.

He lay beside Jaime once again, pulling him in close and wrapping both arms snugly around him.

“Thanks,” Jaime said quietly, reaching blindly for the blanket without opening his eyes and tugging it up near his chin.  “What was that you were singing before?”

“Dunno exactly,” Bronn lied, because it was a lullaby and he thought Jaime would probably get offended if he knew.  He started up humming it again though and Jaime let out a tiny sigh, his legs loose and pliant when Bronn tangled them with his.

He needed a piss but it was a bit late now; Jaime was as good as asleep by the time Bronn had reached the end of the song and with him tucked safe and warm in his arms, it would take an army marching in to make him let go.  He hadn’t put the wine away either, or washed the cups, but Bronn didn’t care.  He didn’t care about anything just then; all that mattered was Jaime, soft and sweet in sleep.

Everything else could wait.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is just completely self-indulgent fluff and I don't even care. Eventually it'll be part of a series with one fic for all seven of the gods - up next (should be soon as it's nearly complete) is Maiden's Day! :) Three guesses for which traditional holiday that one emulates haha
> 
> If anyone wants to talk headcanons, share ideas or just chat, feel free to message me on [tumblr](http://salazarsslytherin.tumblr.com)! :)


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